Christmas Recap

Starting off the New Year a few days late with a new post...sorry, I've been severely lacking in the blog department since I got my new job. Many other things have fallen to the way side as well, including house cleaning, laundry and landscaping. Some things have picked up, like Mark having more TV/video game time after school, but I'm not nearly as thrilled about that as he is.

Anyway, on to happier things. Christmas was, as usual, a blast. We managed to get a full-sized tree up and decorated this year. I resisted last year because I thought my wild, crazy cat Fernando would ruin it, and I was nervous that theory would hold up again this year. But he did surprisingly well--he actually liked having a tree indoors. He spent lots of nap time underneath, and almost as much time trying to drink the water out of the tree stand.

Because I switched jobs, I had no vacation time during the holidays. Mark still had two full weeks off, so I sent him off to San Diego to spend the first week with all his cousins. He missed me terribly while he was gone, texting and phoning me constantly.

OK, just kidding, he didn't even notice I wasn't there. I called and spoke to everyone in the house BUT Mark, and likewise received texts from everyone but him. When I got there Christmas Eve, I was greeted with huge hugs, though--again, from every kid but mine. (Gotta say, those nieces and nephews do make you feel loved and welcome!)

In our house, it's not Christmas until the house is overflowing, so we invited the neighbors and their kids over for dinner. It was a loud, fun dinner, with the kids and dogs in the kitchen, and the adults in the dining room. I'm pretty sure our laughter drowned out the children's.

Christmas morning was a bit...underwhelming. Not present-wise, but because most of the kids are teenagers now. They used to wake up at the crack of dawn, yelling and screaming excitedly, trying to shake the presents under the tree without any adults noticing. But this year, Tim and Kim brought their new dog, Phoebe, who is actually Fernando in a dog costume. She's two years old, a playful, rambunctious puppy disguised as a full-sized dog. Upon arrival, Phoebe walked in and immediately marked her territory on the Christmas tree. 

Poor little Grant was the only one still excited about Santa anyway, and he had to go off to a hotel with his parents. Which probably worked out for the best, because Santa arrived at my parents' late in the morning, so we could keep an eye on Phoebe and keep the presents dry.

The kids were all excited about their gifts--electronics topped the lists this year. Poor Mark was bummed that he didn't get anything to plug in, but he was sweet enough to pretend he wasn't. (And please...it's not like the kid got nothing..or a lump of coal!)

But not all the kids were paying such close attention to the gifts they were opening. My nephew Nicholas proudly showed off a rubber ducky tea infuser, which I told him was really for Aunt Mari.

"Did you really think I'd give you that?" I asked, taking the duck away.

"Well, I like rubber duckies," he said, shrugging. "And I like tea, so..."

"It's for Aunt Mari!" I told him, handing it to Mari.

Ten minutes later, he opened another gift.

"Uh...thanks, Auntie Heather?" he asked, turning the gift around in his hands to examine it. "It's really--"

"It's for Grandma," I said, swiping the gift away. "Did you really think I'd give you ceramic measuring bowls for Christmas?"

I had to give him credit for being polite, though--he was certainly polite and thankful for whatever he thought he got.

The kids were quietly playing with their new stuff a while later, and I stopped to check in on them.

"Do you get some good stuff, Marky?" I asked, using my son's pet name.

"Yep!" he answered.

My sis-in-law Kim was sitting there, and asked if Mark minded being called "Marky."

"No," he shrugged. "It's fine."

And then Kim made a fatal mistake--she opened up and made herself vulnerable. (She's been a Dinsdale long enough to know NEVER, EVER expose a weakness to this pack of wild dogs--because they will immediately seize on it and never let go!)

"I always hated being called 'Kimmy' when I was a kid," she said. And that was all it took...

"Really, Aunt Kimmy?" Mark asked.

"Kimmy, seriously...you hated that?" said Nicholas.

"Aunt Kimmy!" Grant cheered happily. (He couldn't think of a good put-down, but he wanted to join in.)

"Kimmy, time for breakfast!" Tim called. And boy, oh boy, did I feel bad, because I saw a whole week of "Kimmy" ahead.

We put the gifts away long enough to feast on two wonderful meals--my mom really outdid herself this year. We all wanted to be together this day, so we squished everybody in, packing all 13 of us into the tiny dining room. The food was fantastic, and the laughter around the table was even better.

Hannah and Nic wanted to try out their new surfboards after lunch, so they headed off to the beach. To my delight, they took Mark, too. He'd been a little pill that day, eating massive amounts of sugar and not giving himself nearly enough insulin to compensate. He even tried running out the door without his meter (which has glucose tabs attached), which meant he had no backup sugar in case he went low.

I handed him the meter, but on a whim, pulled it back and popped open the container where there should have been glucose tabs. It was empty. I growled at Mark, pointed toward the kitchen and strongly suggested he refill it before I strangled him. He snorted, rolled his eyes but refilled it before Uncle Tim left without him. (Uncle Tim waits for no one.)

They were all gone for a blissfully quiet couple of hours. When they returned, Gabi found me--she couldn't wait to tell me about their afternoon. (She and Mark drive each other crazy, and love to tattle on each other.)

"Mark went low," she said, smiling broadly.

"He did?" I asked.

"Yup," she said. "My mom was really mad."

"Why?" I asked. That didn't seem like Mari at all.

"Because he didn't bring any snacks with him," she said. "He was really hungry."

I smacked my forehead. "So, what happened?" I asked.

"My mom took us over to the Hotel Del," Gabi explained. "She bought Mark Rice Krispies and milk, and she bought me a chocolate croissant." A big smile lit up her face.

I gasped--Mark LOVES chocolate croissants. "Was he so mad?" I asked.

"My mom was MAD!" she said. "She picked the most boring thing she could for Mark, and he had to watch us eating chocolate croissants."

Usually I wouldn't laugh at my kid being tortured, but I couldn't help myself. He'd been giving me hell all week and ignoring his diabetes--not only was this a hilarious punishment, it was also very fitting.

"I can't believe Aunt Mari did that," I said. She is Mark's favorite person, because of her sweet, gentle nature. But even Aunt Mari doesn't mess around when it comes to diabetes!

"She didn't want to ruin your Christmas day," Gabi explained. Little did she know, Mari actually MADE my Christmas with that story!

As the day rolled on, we had just one final commitment--to see our friends, the Fera-Schanes'. We LOVE them, and traditionally spend Christmas evening visiting at our house. But this year, we went to their house to see their newest family member--a two-month-old golden retriever puppy named Atticus. (He looked like a baby Phoebe!)

Atticus (who's name is twice as big as he is!) was a doll! Seriously, he was like a giant stuffed animal come to life, so soft and silly. He'd recently learned to run, which was more like an unsteady gallop/bounce, and he was thrilled to show us how he could attack (and eat) every stick in the yard.

The kids LOVED him, descending on him like he was the best toy ever made. They overwhelmed the little guy, but he loved it. He was seemingly punch-drunk from all their energy--at one point, I told them to all stop running and stand still. Atticus literally bounced into them, then the wall, then a nearby lounge chair. He was so overstimulated he couldn't stand still. It was hilarious.

I finally had to drag the hyper children away to give the baby dog time to rest and recover. We bid adieu to my favorite family, and headed home. Nicholas, however, was still wound up from all the puppy time, and wouldn't sit still in the car. I knew everyone else would be quiet and calm when we got home, so I stopped at the top of the hill a half mile from home.

"Out," I said, popping open the door.

The kids looked at me, confused.

"Nicholas, out!" I repeated. "Go run off some of that energy."

"OK!" he shouted, climbing over the seats. Mark shrugged and jumped out with him, then Nathalie followed as well. Gabi climbed out, too, which confused me, because she hates running, or any type of exercise, for that matter. But then she jumped into the front seat, slammed the door and yelled, "GO!" at me.

"HURRY!" she screamed. "We must beat them home!" That sounded more like her. :-)

And beat them we did, but just barely. They raced inside, where they were immediately shushed. I just smiled, happy, content, with a warm Christmas and new puppy buzz. It was loud, and homey, and wonderful to be surrounded by my family, and there was no where else on Earth I'd rather be than there, in that moment.

And really, what better way to end Christmas than that?

Santa's WHAT?!?!

My poor sister-in-law Mary was not feeling well over Christmas. She slept wrong one night, resulting in a kinked neck. Nothing she did helped it, and she couldn't sleep because of it.

In addition to no sleep, she was also juggling a hectic work schedule, a visiting mother, and all the chaos of a large family over Christmas.

But she took her small moments when she could find them. One was with her son Grant, who's 8. They were wrapping presents together when Grant spied a present that troubled him. It was a gift for his sister Gabi, from Santa. And it was two days BEFORE Christmas.

"Grant saw the present, Auntie Heather," my nephew Nic told me, very concerned. "And I think Aunt Mary told him the truth."

I stopped in my tracks when he said that.

"I know!" he said. "I hope she didn't, but I think she did. I didn't wanna tell him...I just couldn't do that to a little kid." He was so sweet and earnest, I had to hug him.

I completely forgot about the story until a few hours later. I had all the boys in my car and I asked what Santa was going to bring them.

Grant answered before anyone else. In the smallest, saddest voice I've ever heard, he said, "Santa's dead. But his spirit still delivers presents to us."

The car immediately went silent. I realized the story Mary had probably told him--about the real-life Saint Nicholas--and how he'd misinterpreted that story. I felt Mark and Nic both go rigid in their seats. I tensed up pretty good, too.

Mark nudged me from the passenger seat and whispered urgently, "Mom, there's something important I have to tell you later."

I knew it was the story about Grant seeing the present, so I whispered back, "I already know."

"No," Mark insisted. "It's important!"

I waved my hand at Mark in an "I got this" motion, although it was the farthest thing from the truth. I cleared my throat, stalled a moment, and asked in my best non-committal therapist voice, "Uhhhh...how do you feel about that?"

"Sad!" Grant cried, and I mentally slapped myself. Idiot!

"Me too!" I said. The car was still tense; there was an 8-year-old who thought Santa was dead, and the 12-year-olds were silently freaking out. I had to do something, fast.

"I don't believe it," I said, firmly. "I believe Santa's coming tonight--of course he is!! I believe in Santa!"

"Me too!" Nic shouted.

"I do, too!" Mark yelled. "I TOTALLY believe in Santa!"

I was grateful to them, and proud of them. They shouted so many Santa affirmations Grant couldn't help but smile.
 
"I believe in Santa, too!" he cried, and we all made a lot of whooping noises for Santa and his imminent arrival. I just sighed...whew, crisis (narrowly) averted!

When Mary got home, I told her the story. She yelped and turned bright red, covering her face in her hands. She said, "I told him about Saint Nicholas, and how he gave gifts, and how that tradition carried on after he died."

"That's what I figured," I said. "But that's not the message he took away..."

"I was just so tired!" she said. "And he caught me off guard...I didn't know what to tell him!"

Mary, Nathalie and I caused quite a ruckus from laughing so loud. Someone knocked on the door, and we immediately shut up. Tim slowly opened the door, poked his head in, looked at Mary and said in an accusatory tone, "DEAD?" Then he shut the door again and left without another word.

We erupted into a whole new fit of laughter.

My dad thought the story was hilarious, but my mom fretted about it.

"Oh no!" she cried. "Santa died at my house." 

She worried that would be Grant's only memory of his 8th Christmas.

But the kids were determined to right the situation. I put on the movie "Elf," which has a scene where one elf tells another, "Some kids don't believe in Santa--they think its their parents, but how can a parent deliver that many gifts in one night?"

All five of the big kids, who'd now heard the "Santa's dead" story, started yelling at the TV.

"It's not parents!" "I believe in Santa!" "Santa's REAL!" they shouted, and Grant happily shouted along with them.

But Grant's sad little proclamation lived on...we spent the rest of the holiday week whispering, "Santa's dead," and bursting into laughter afterwards. Poor Mary--she really has the best heart, and the most sincere intentions in the entire family, but those good intentions sometimes miss the mark. 

And so yes, Grant, no matter what your mom says...there really IS a Santa Claus. And he's not dead!

Christmas 2012

Christmas 2012 was an awesome experience at the Dinsdale San Diego homestead. It was everything you'd imagine when you think of a big family: meals around a giant table, laughter, bickering, kids running rampant, and a house so full, it seem ready to burst at the seams (as the family joke goes, we brought everyone but the chickens).

The only people we missed were my brother Smed and his fiancé Shanda, and our little buddy Johnny. They would've completed the whole picture, but Smed had to work. :-(

The crowd arrived on Saturday, filling every nook and cranny. This drives my poor mom crazy; she lives for putting everything in its proper place, but with 14 people, there's no place for order. We try to be considerate, but there's just so much stuff. Duffel bags and sleeping bags are stuffed behind the couches, suitcases have exploded in the bedrooms, and the bathrooms are a jumble of toiletry bags and random toothbrushes.

The rooms were equally filled with people. It was impossible to walk into any room and have a quiet moment, but hey, we're Dinsdales, we thrive on cacophony. 

Well, most of us, anyway; my mom proclaimed that next year, she's skipping Christmas and going on a cruise. I pointed out that a hectic Christmas is actually my parents' own fault since they always encouraged our family members to be close. I pointed out that not all families engage in a Christmas marathon; some people only spend one or two evenings together during the holidays. Tim said, "What? Not all families spend 144 hours together??"

On top of all that, Dinsdales are also very social. We have a lot of friends, and we like to see them. So, at any given moment, in addition to Dinsdales, the rooms were filled with our non-biological family--Roppés (two different groups of them!), Fera-Schanes', and anyone else who happens to be in town and has a few free moments to stop by and say hi. I went out a couple times with some other friends, which was also nice.

But hey, all that chaos is what makes it feel like a real family Christmas. :-)

It was really nice to just hang with the family. The kids are all teens or pre-teens now, so they don't want to run off to the park any more. Scott transformed half the garage into a teen cave for them, complete with a Wii and a stereo. They LOVED that, and spent most of their waking time out there. 

We also made sure the kids got lots of outside time. On Sunday, we drove to Coronado. You know it's a San Diego Christmas when the snowmen are made of beach sand, and the ice skating rink is melting in the sun. 

Oh, and there are palm trees surrounding the skating rink. 

Monday was Christmas Eve. We almost got seats in the real church this year--unfortunately, there was only room for five of us. We decided it was more important to be together than it was to be in the big church, so we tromped off together and celebrated in the bingo hall. I found out later that it didn't matter where we were, the only one really paying any attention was Grant. He perked up when the priest talked about the "son of Mary."

"Hey, I'M the son of Mary!" Grant exclaimed, and indeed he is, just not that Mary. But we couldn't help giggling at his enthusiasm.

We returned home after Mass for a wonderful dinner, gifts for the kids (just one!), and a photo shoot of all the families.

Kim, Tim, Nic (12), Hannah (14--but 15 the next day), and my parents

Scott, Gabi (12), Mary, Grant (8), Nathalie (14), and Mary's mom Fran

Me and Mark (12)

Christmas dawned bright and early--around 5 a.m. I know because I was sleeping on the couch in the living room, and was awakened by two very giggly 12-year-olds. (Neither one was mine--he's not even a morning person on Christmas.)

I kicked them out and told them not to come back for two hours, but they never listen. They slipped back in an hour later and asked if they could just look at the presents. 

"Look but don't touch," I relented, which was immediately followed by shaking sounds. 

Finally, we gathered the family together. Most of the kids were as excited as...well, kids on Christmas morning. (And notice I said most of the kids--with one exception!)

Mark was excited to receive this particular gift, though.

It went well with his Bigfoot shirt and his Duck Dynasty DVD. Mark was happy happy happy.

Nic was also excited about his gift from Hannah. (And I was equally amused at Hannah's story of carrying the gorilla through the store, and making it wave at people from the car on the way home.)

 

Nic promptly named the giant gorilla Jeffrey. Turns out Jeffrey is a fun guy, as evidenced by his visit to the breakfast table.

 

It was a fabulous holiday. Mark had a blast hanging out with all his cousins, and I had just as much fun hanging out with the grownups. Any time I get to spend with my family is a good time, even if it is crowded and crazy. But hey, that's what Christmas is to me. 

And although my mom might disagree, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Happy New Year! (Oh, and uh, Merry Christmas, too!)

OK, so I've been a little lax in publishing posts lately. The holidays were busy, and there were many adventures to be had, so I definitely slacked in the blog department. Herewith I offer my first humble post of the year, which, ironically, is actually a recap of Christmas from last year.

This Christmas was one of the best yet. I'm not sure why; there was nothing extraordinary about it, no surprise guests or big, outlandish gifts. It included all the regulars; my family, our close friends (hello, Fera-Schanes' and Roppés!), and even an old high school friend I reconnected with over lunch. 

What made it special, though, was that exact cast of people--all of my favorites, in one place, at one time. It's why Christmas is my favorite time of year, because I get to spend it with such amazing people. You could hear the laughter from three houses away, and you could definitely feel the love and affection we all have for one another, if you just dipped in a little past all the sarcasm.

I know it drove my mom nuts having all of us home at the same time (as the old family joke says, we brought everybody but the chickens!). But she loved it, too. When I told my niece Hannah how glad my parents were to see her, she wisely noted that "Grandma loves to see us come, but she also loves to see us go." All I could do was laugh, because no greater truth has been spoken. My parents do love to have us all home, but there are 16 of us (and two dogs!) in the immediate family, and not a quiet one in the bunch. So I know what Hannah's talking about, and I reassured her Grandma feels the same about the rest of us.

I love just sitting around with my family--my brothers, sisters-in-law and parents--laughing and re-telling the same childhood stories again and again. Usually, the kids (my kid and  my nieces and nephews) are outside roaming the neighborhood, or in the hot tub, cramming in as many bodies as possible and splashing the living room window. But this year, they wanted to join us. They crept in slowly, quietly, the older kids at first, and then the middle kids, pulling up chairs and claiming their places at the table. They listened to us tease each other, and then jumped in with their own jokes. They're older now, and they get it; they share our twisted Dinsdale sense of humor, that sarcasm, and the ability to tease you in just the right way, so that it's biting but not hurtful.

They've spent their lives watching us adults interact, and now, they're mini versions of us, teasing whoever's in the spotlight, and masterfully deflecting when the attention turns on them. I've always loved these kids, but this year, I really grew to appreciate them--they are everything you'd want in kids, funny, smart, and just genuinely nice people. I think they are what made the difference this this year. I really appreciated their humor, their wit, their personalities, and I enjoyed spending so much time with them all over the holidays.

But enough with the love. I'm a Dinsdale, after all, so enough with the all the mushy love. Let's move on to the funny. And to the pictures...

I managed to corral Mark and most of his cousins on Christmas Eve. These kids are the masters of facial expressions and in every shot, at least one kid is squinting, popping out their eyes, frowning, blinking, sticking out a tongue, throwing gang signs, or doing all of the above. It takes roughly 60 shots to get one semi-decent portrait. I will confess that my brother Smed was feeding me rum drinks all afternoon, and so I only had the attention span to shoot 30 shots.

Here's the most decent result:

 

The adults are not much better. They don't squint or blink as much, but they do spend most of the time bossing each other around, and telling each other where to stand and what to do. I found this motley crew in the kitchen where Smed was handing out a high-alcohol content lager he called "Christmas in a glass." It was both potent and delicious.

Christmas for me, at least, started out beyond early. The house was full, which meant people slept pretty much anywhere there was an open space. The kids usually take over the living room (we call it "the dorm"), but because of Santa's imminent arrival, they got booted. Which meant we had to make room somewhere for the three 11-year-olds. I offered them the floor in my room, and boy was that dumb! I forgot how exciting Christmas morning is when you're 11. Now multiply that excitement by three, and you'll see my mistake. I realized my error when I awakened to an excited voice shouting, "Wake up, Nick, it's 4:30!"

I heard Nicholas jump up. Without opening my eyes, I barked, "Go back to sleep! No getting up until 6:30!"

I heard a round of groans, but they complied. Kind of. I heard a scratching at the door, and Nick let his dog, Sunshine, in. The kids then proceeded to play with Sunny over the next two hours until I finally gave in and let them run off to the living room.

"Look, but don't touch!" I yelled after them.

The kids laid out their stockings on Christmas Eve, but in all the excitement, they forgot to leave Santa any cookies. My mom substituted Mexican bread, or at least the pieces that were left after Sunshine's binge on it the night before.

The kids patiently opened their stockings, but were itching to get on to the good stuff--the sea of presents which overtook the room. 

My mom insists we take turns opening stuff in an orderly fashion, but that usually only lasts a few minutes. Mayhem quickly ensues when there are six kids involved.

My brother Tim loves shaved-ice, and has a favorite shop on Maui. My parents bought him this spiffy apron from the store, which is called Local Boys. But as Tim put the apron on, one of the kids read the words out loud.

Smed answered, "Yeah, we always suspected," and with that, Tim immediately pulled the apron off and refused to don it ever again. His wife Kim modeled it for us instead.

Gabi, who earlier informed us that her college of choice will be a "party school," also got some great gifts. Check out my favorite little fencer, and her new uniform:

And yes, most of us did get stabbed with that foil.

The big hit of the day were the remote controlled helicopters I got for Nick and Mark (and which, Gabi angrily reminded me, I did NOT get for her). They spent the day buzzing our heads, or dropping them suddenly on our feet. Somehow, miraculously, they managed NOT to break any ornaments on the tree.

My nephew Johnny arrived mid-morning, and I tried to get another group shot of all the kids. They wouldn't stand still long enough for me to get my flash working properly, so this is as good as it gets:

Later that night, I was walking down the hall, and heard a whole lotta commotion going on in the living room. This is what I saw when I turned the corner--somebody got a new game, and the kids were really digging it.

It reminded me of my college days, and how we used to stick playing cards to our foreheads, and guess what we had. I have a feeling Gabi will do really well in party school. 

The day after Christmas is Hannah's birthday, and we spend it the same way every year--at Sea World. These two jokers were lollygagging around the shark encounter:

I tried to take another group shot, but as I focused, Tim told all the kids to start walking toward me. It threw off my autofocus and made me laugh, all at the same time, so I never did get a good pic.

My parents stayed home to enjoy the silence, but we returned that evening to ruin it for them. HWe sang to Hannah, and then, because her cake was so small, we removed the 4, so it looked like a baby's first birthday cake. Hannah didn't much appreciate that, but she got over it pretty quickly.

Other family pics from the dinner:

Mom and Dad

Scott and Mari

Tim and Kim

So, all in all, it was another fantastic holiday. I really did feel ultra-lucky this year--everyone was healthy, happy, and together. I just felt grateful to have them all around me, to be safe and snugly tucked away in all the laughter and love of my friends and family.

I can't think of any Christmas gift better than all that.

Every Breath You Take, Christmas Edition

 A recent holiday-themed conversation in my house...

  

Mark: "Santa's kind of a stalker..."

Me: "Wait, what? Whoa!"

Mark: "He IS. Come on, who else watches you when you sleep? And why is he watching all us kids anyway?"

Me: "So he knows if you've been good or bad." 

Mark: Silence. Then, raises his eyebrows.

Me: "He's not a stalker."

Mark: "I'm just saying...he watches me all the time to know if I've been good or bad, he watches me when I sleep, he sneaks into my house to eat my cookies and milk."

Me: "Well, when you put it like that..."

And so I had to concede that Mark had a point. Santa does leave presents, but now the idea of a jolly old man watching me all the time kinda creeps me out a bit. 

Thank you, Mark, for keeping the Christmas love alive!

Had a holly, jolly Christmas

Christmas is a time of quiet reflection, and of spending quality time with the family. Unfortunately, what I realized over this Christmas vacation is that it's nearly impossible to do both with my family. Turns out my family is LOUD. Don't know why I never realized that before, but it's true. (I know it's also hard to believe that I, the queen of quiet, hail from a loud family.)

We spent Christmas at my parent's house in San Diego, and it was loads of fun. For the first time in years and years, my family actually got to sit inside the actual church for Christmas Eve mass, instead of the bingo hall. We went to a later mass, 8:30, which we were finally able to do, because all the kids are old enough to stay up a little later now. Even my nephew, Johnny, who just turned four. He was a big hit during mass, singing "Go Tell It On the Mountain" at the top of his lungs, and playing with a handful of (unlit) candles. It's hard to be mad at a disruptive little kid when he's that cute.

Say "cheese!" Or in Johnny's case, "Cheesy grin!"

My poor mom was sick, so this is the most we saw of her.

Mark woke me early by opening the door and, with a grunt, throwing a giant blue bean bag straight at me.

"Look what Santa brought me!" he shouted.

"Cool," I answered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. It turned out to be a very popular gift--a bit of a kid magnet. They couldn't keep off of it.

Room for one more.

I heard excited voices in the room next door. Christmas morning had arrived, and soon enough, it was a blur of frenzied children and wrapping paper flying through the air.

Mark got the things he wanted most, including purple skinny jeans. My brothers proceeded to mock them (they are a really bright purple), but Mark just shrugged it off. (I love that about him!) He also got a super cool Jeep seat belt buckle belt from Seth and Sasha, which held up his tad-bit-too-big purple pants.

"Tuck your shirt in so people can see the belt," I told him.

"That's not really my style," he answered back.

"What's the point of wearing a cool belt if no one can see it?" I asked

He answered, "Uh, to hold up my pants?" and I had to admit he was right.

Purple skinny jeans and one happy boy!

The big hit of the day were the Nerf guns. All the kids got them, and the house went from flying gift wrapping to flying Nerf bullets. You couldn't walk anywhere in the house without getting shot--my dad even unloaded a whole magazine on me. My brother Smed set up Johnny and Grant's buckets of soldiers all along the couch, and all the boys (Smed included) took turns strafing the couch. It was a bit unnerving.

My nieces both got new phones. 10-year-old Gabi proceeded to send me approximately 147 text messages within the first hour, most of them while sitting right next to me. She wasn't at all interested in the phone's calling capabilities, and I'm predicting she'll get carpal tunnel in her wrists by age 12.

We ate a big holiday meal, which was excellent, and then went over to visit our friends, the Fera-Schanes. We took the kids, who were delighted when Sasha asked if they wanted to be filmed. (She's a grad student in children's programming.) I'm not sure what exactly was taped, but I could hear them bouncing and shrieking in the room next door.

I was in San Diego for the long haul during my brothers' overlapping visits. On Sunday, my sis-in-law Mary and I took our kids to the zoo. They liked the tour bus ride through the park, although the only animal that really interested them was a man dressed as an elf.

"Hi, elf!" Gabi yelled at him, which Grant thought was hilarious. Soon, they were both yelling, "Hi, elf! Bye, elf!" and completely missed the bears on the other side of the bus.

It was cold and gray, and the kids begged for something hot to drink. We bought them hot cocoa, which unfortunately, seemed to be missing a key ingredient--cocoa.

"It tastes like brown water," Nathalie observed. I immediately set mine down--the last thing I wanted to do was drink brown water at the zoo! Mark followed suit, but Gabi and Grant finished theirs, and spent the rest of the afternoon on a sugar high. Gabi decided to take pictures with her new phone and promptly filled up the memory card taking pictures of the signs at the koala exhibit. (I don't think she photographed any live koalas, just the signs.)

On Monday, my brother Tim and his family came to town. They love Coronado, so we piled into a couple cars and drove over to the dog beach at sunset. The colors were amazing, and even though it was chilly, the kids had a blast at the beach.










On Tuesday, we all went to Sea World. The kids spent most of the day getting soaked, by dolphins, Shamu and even the roaring rapids ride.








Tim managed to catch Grant at some point and tie his sweatshirt into a knot. It was pretty hard to convince Grant to go anywhere near Tim after that.



By Wednesday, it was raining once again, and we were trapped indoors with all the little hooligans. I decided that it was time for us to go, so Mark and I packed up all our gifts and stuffed them into the car. I was really worried the giant bean bag wouldn't fit, but we poked, prodded and pushed it until it did.

And then we piled into the tiny space left in the car and drove off, happy but tired. And Mark was already talking about what he wants for next Christmas!

What we did over Christmas break--San Diego chapter

We were mad travelling fools over the winter break. After Tucson, we returned to San Diego to celebrate Christmas with the family.

We usually reserve the day after Christmas to celebrate my niece Hannah's birthday (happy belated birthday, Hannah!). But since Hannah and her family weren't in town this year, we opted for the zoo instead.

The plan was to meet up with Scott and Mary's friend Donna at the zoo. Donna and her husband Josh were bringing their two daughters. They also brought Josh's sister, her son, and a couple other little nephews. That's right, we ended up at the zoo the day after Christmas with NINE kids! (They outnumbered us adults -- there were only 7 of us.)

I would best describe my day as an elaborate text scavenger hunt. My brother Scott seized the first opportunity he had to ditch us. He followed part of the group to the orangutan exhibit, and was nice enough to text me and tell me to meet him there. Of course, try herding 6 kids quickly through the zoo -- it's virtually impossible. We didn't even make it past the flamingos. They ooohed and ahhed at the pink birds, but as soon as they marvelled over the ducks, I moved them along.

"No fawning over ducks," I told them. "Save that for the tigers!"

It's been a long time since I've been to the zoo, and I ended up lost on some crazy path. We did come across this great photo op, however:

By the time I reached the end of the path, Scott had texted me three more times. I was two feet from the orangutan exhibit when he texted that he was now at the pandas.

So it was off to the pandas. Then the next text came in.

"Pandas too crowded. Going to the elephants."

Before I could even relay the message, the next text came in.

"Panda line moving fast. GET HERE QUICK!"

So it was off to the pandas after all. We had to shepherd the kids through an aviary and down three flights of stairs, all of which provided endless distractions. We got to the pandas just as Scott and Josh were at the front.

I'd like to say the pandas were beautiful and amazing. They were pretty, but they were also sleeping lazily in the trees above, facing away from us. I couldn't believe I'd rushed around the whole zoo to get a rare glimpse of a panda butt.

It was unusually cold for San Diego, so Mary and I stopped to get some hot coffee. The operative word here is "stop," something Scott refused to do. He grabbed all the kids but Mark and ran off. I knew I'd get a destination text momentarily.

"Take walkway up to elephant exhibit," it read.

Unfortunately, we took the wrong walkway and ended up back at the aviary. We had to re-trace our path down the three flights of stairs, this time holding two cups of hot coffee each. Mark was mad his cousins were off having fun without him. But I was having a good time laughing with my sister-in-law about my crazy brother.

We finally found the right walkway and ended up by the lions. I was a little nervous about a graphic picture of a lion with his tail raised that warned "Lions can spray 7-10 feet."

"Gross!" I told Mark. "It's bad enough when Frankie sprays. Can you imagine getting sprayed by a big ol' lion?"

We quickly moved away from that exhibit.

We finally found Scott and family by the elephants. He assured us that the lions were in their little cave, and we should go see them.

They were very cool to look at. But I felt really bad for them -- people were packed up against the glass, snapping endless pictures of them. The cave was dark, so with every picture, a flash popped, and the poor lions seized a little from the sudden light. It was like watching the paparazzi attack; it didn't seem very "king of the jungle" at all.

The kids were begging to go on the skyfari ride, so that's where we headed next. I have a very healthy fear of heights, and a son with a sick sense of humor, so the last place I wanted to be was in a tiny car in the air with him swinging it around. I reluctantly agreed to go provided I could also take my niece Nathalie (who wouldn't swing). Mark promised not to make any jarring movements only because Nathalie begged him not to; apparently, my motherly fears held no weight with him.

But I had the last laugh. As soon as the skyfari car rocked into the air, Mark turned to mush. He gripped onto the bar in the middle with all his might. I broke into a cold sweat, which didn't help much when Nathalie, then Mark, started freaking out.

"I'm scared!" Nathalie shouted.

"We're gonna die!" Mark shouted.

"I know!" I almost shouted.

Then I remembered I was the adult and was supposed to be the calming influence. They were not helping any, let me tell you. I finally calmed them down, and by the time we reached the other side of the zoo, Mark was half-heartedly threatening to rock the car again.

By then, we'd had enough. I was thankful I'd bought annual passes, because the zoo was so crowded, and frankly, I was tired of chasing after Scott all day long. I promised Mark we'd return soon.

All the craziness didn't deter the kids, though. They still had a blast, and even posed for a very good picture:


I wonder if the zookeepers even realized four little monkeys had escaped...

Merry Christmas! (2009 edition)

It's my very favorite time of the year, Christmas! And I feel really fortunate to have spent another one with the people I love most -- my family.

Christmas began with the traditional Christmas Eve mass. We dressed up really nice, and then straggled until we were too late to get seats inside the church. Instead, much to my Mother's dismay, we piled into the overflow building and celebrated Christmas mass in the bingo hall (I was sorely tempted to yell "O 15!" when I dropped my money in the collection basket.)

The family.

Me and my parents.

Mark behaved really well at church, which is a semi-miracle since we don't regularly attend services (much to my chagrin, he said, "What's 'mass'?" when Kelley asked if we were attending midnight mass. And last year, he kept pointing at the Virgin Mary stature and asking loudly, "Who's she?").

After church, we drove home with a car full of caroling kids, and sat down to a lovely dinner my mom prepared. The kids could barely sit still -- they wiggled and squirmed the entire time, quickly gulping down their food so they could open a present.

Nathalie pointed out this present for me, and gasped when I said, "Who's getting a bowl?"

"How do you know what it is?" she asked.

"Look at it!" I answered. "It's not a violin!"

She made me promise to act surprised when I opened it. As soon as I promised, my dad walked in the room and said, "Oh look, a bowl!" My sister-in-law Mary, who'd wrapped it, was mortified. My dad suggested she use gift bags next year.

Hmmm, wonder what THAT is??

Finally, the kids plated some cookies and milk for Santa, then ran off to bed. The countdown for Santa began, and they almost couldn't take it. I could hear them giggle excitedly in their rooms.

I tried convincing the kids that Santa doesn't come until 7:45 a.m., so they'd better steer clear of the living room until 8. They did not listen to me, and came tiptoeing into the family room just after 7.

Gabi, Grant and Mark's eyes were big as saucers, and they told me Santa left Mark a note in his stocking. Mark told me what it said, and their eyes grew even bigger.

The note.

"Well, Mark's had a tough year," I said. "I've been warning him to behave for the past month!"

The kids held their breath and watched Mark unwrap the gift. They gasped audibly when they saw the contents -- two lumps of coal!

"I made Santa's naughty list," Mark whispered.

Hey, Santa tried to warn you, Mr. Sassypants!

The nieces and nephews couldn't wait to share the news. When the neighbor kids came over, Gabi immediately blurted out, "Mark got coal!"

Leilani stopped in her tracks, then said, "Let me see." She told us her cousin's friend had once gotten coal, then reminded us she'd been very good this year.

But Mark wasn't all bad. He got some of his favorite things for Christmas, like this bottle of mayonnaise from Gabi (he loves mayonnaise).

He also got a new robe.



And in the theme of keeping warm, I got my parents matching presents -- Snuggie blankets! My brother Scott said they weren't allowed to wear them outside of the house. I'm pretty sure my mom loved hers, because she told me, "Don't worry, I'll get even!" (That's a term of endearment, right?)

See, Snuggies keep your hands free to wave!

Or to hold hands with your beloved spouse.

Even Chuck the dog got a present -- a new stuffed squirrel to chase and attack. He was thrilled.

Get 'em, Chuck!

The afternoon was spent with our family friends, the Roppe's. It was fun to catch up with them.

My mom was still working on the big family feast. I helped by peeling the potatoes, but when Scott walked by he shouted, "Mom, Heather's cooking! Make her stop!" Nathalie repeated him, telling the kids, "Aunt Heather's cooking!" I could hear Gabi yell, "Eeeewwww!" all the way from the living room. So much for the loving, supportive, nurturing family!

After dinner, we had one more set of guests, the Fera-Schanes family. I love when they come over, because you know you're gonna spend the night laughing. And laugh we did! Seth and I almost lost it when my nephew Johnny convinced his dad to give him a snack. Johnny opened the pantry and pulled out a bag of mini-marshmallows. Brad said, "No, Johnny," but the bag was upside down, and marshmallows fell everywhere. Without hesitation, Johnny dropped to the ground and stuffed marshmallows into his mouth with both hands. I grabbed him, and he tried to protest, but his little cheeks were too stuffed for any sound to come out. Boy, was he mad at me for foiling his plan!

All in all, we had a wonderful day. It was everything Christmas should be -- family, friends, kids ripping open presents, and then playing all day with their new toys. It was good food and loud laughter. It was home.

And it was great.